


Burned Pumpkin Pie

by AmuMcRobot



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Holidays, M/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:51:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmuMcRobot/pseuds/AmuMcRobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanksgiving was the only holiday Kate didn't taint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burned Pumpkin Pie

Derek started dating Kate two weeks after Thanksgiving, right before Christmas. She kissed him under mistletoe, kissed him at midnight on New Year's, kissed him on Valentine's Day with her mouth tasting of chocolate. But she was never able to touch Thanksgiving.

It was a good thing, too, since Thanksgiving had always been Derek's favorite holiday. Tons of food, watching his mother and father bicker and cook together, squeezing onto the couch with Laura, Cora, and their numerous cousins, and eventually falling asleep with a plate of pie on his lap on said couch. There was nothing bad about Thanksgiving.

Until after the fire, after Laura died. Derek never learned how to cook. He was too young, too worried about his 'masculinity' to ask his mother to teach him how. He spent Thanksgiving with a can of black olives, a store-bought rotisserie chicken, and a frozen pumpkin pie that he still managed to burn. Isaac laughed himself silly the first time Derek pulled a burning pumpkin pie out of the oven. When he was visiting over Thanksgiving break his freshman year of college, he just looked sad.

Isaac must have told Scott, who told Stiles, because their sophomore year of college, Stiles walked right into Derek's loft (why didn't he ever lock his door, seriously), cocked his hip and said, "you're coming over to mine for Thanksgiving dinner." It was Wednesday.

"I have plans," Derek said.

"Like hell. I know, Derek." And then Stiles left. The one time he wasn't wordy as hell was when Derek wanted him to be, so he could have time to think up an excuse, a place to be, suddenly remembered important plans. Maybe he could fake his death?

But Thursday came around and Derek found himself sitting in his car outside of the Stilinski house at ten in the morning with an uncooked frozen pumpkin pie in the passenger seat. He didn’t turn the car off, in case he had to suddenly be on the run for life, conveniently.

But then Stiles walked out of the front door and waved at him, smiling and mouthing, “come in, come in.” He left the front door open behind him and, well, Derek just had to go inside now, because he couldn’t just let the Stilinski house get cold because Stiles was stubborn.

Stiles laughed at Derek when he came into the kitchen. “You brought a pie?” he said, pointing at the box in Derek’s hands. “You’re adorable. Go watch the parade with my dad and Scott. Me and Melissa got this.” He had his hands inside the turkey, so Derek set the pie down on the counter and went to the living room.

Scott and the Sheriff were watching the parade, just like Stiles promised, except the parade was football and the Sheriff wasn’t so much watching it as he was sleeping through it.

“I’m glad you came,” Scott said softly when Derek sat down in the empty armchair. “Isaac should be here soon, too.”

Derek just nodded and watched as Scott threw a black olive in the air and caught it in his mouth, grinning at Derek as he chewed.

Stiles was wiping his hands dry on a hand towel when he walked out of the kitchen a few minutes later. “Bird’s in,” he said. “And dad’s out. Good. Derek, there are hors d'oeuvres if you’re hungry now. The turkey has to cook for, like, ever.” He leaned over Scott to grab a deviled egg, whipping the towel over his shoulder.

“Turn it back to the parade, Scott,” Stiles said, sitting in between Scott and his sleeping father. Derek wished he had brought beer. Or a wolfsbane bullet. He wondered if the Argents would come in, guns blazing, if he called them and told him he was thinking about biting the Sheriff.

***

Isaac showed up and immediately laughed at the frozen pie that was still, apparently, sitting on the counter. “Derek?” he asked Stiles.

“Derek,” Stiles said. They were in the kitchen, but Derek could practically see the way both the boys were smiling at his expense.

A balloon popped in the middle of the parade and Scott laughed. Derek wanted them all to pop. He wanted Thanksgiving to cancel. He should have told Stiles that he was Native American.

***

“Dad wake up,” Stiles said, shaking his father’s shoulder. “You have to come and mash the potatoes.”

The Sheriff rubbed his eyes and grumbled as only fathers know how. But he followed Stiles into the kitchen and did his piece of the work.

Soon, Stiles’ voice called out again. “Scott get your lopsided face in here and tell me if this gravy is thick enough.”

Scott groaned but got up, said lopsided face breaking into a smile.

Derek was alone in the living room for the first time since he showed up, so he took the chance to reach into the bowl of black olives for five and fit them onto his fingers, breaking them to get them to fit. He relaxed into his chair and sucked the olive off his pinky finger, letting his face fall into a smile for the first time all day.

He had just sucked the olive off his ring finger when Stiles walked into the living room with one hand covered in cranberry juices and the other carrying a bowl. “How do you like your cranberry sauce?” he asked Derek before looking up at him and seeing his hand, three fingertips inside small black olives.

Stiles walked right up to Derek and leaned over. He sucked the olive off Derek's middle finger and chewed thoughtfully. “Do you like it really chunky, kinda chunky, or smooth?” he asked.

Derek’s mouth was hanging open. His hand was held in front of his face, fingers spread wide.

“I don’t like cranberry sauce,” he eventually said.

“Of course you don’t,” Stiles said. He leaned in closer to Derek. “Which means I’m making it chunky because that’s how I like it.” He sucked the olive off Derek’s index finger, his mouth falling further down Derek’s finger than was really necessary. His lips released Derek’s finger with a loud pop that Derek was sure the Sheriff would hear.

“Okay,” he said, gulping.

Stiles grinned around his half-chewed olive and walked back into the kitchen.

Derek finished off his last olive and walked into the kitchen to watch Stiles work and to, eventually, help Scott taste-test the gravy.

***

After dinner, Isaac, Scott, Stiles, and Derek fit themselves onto the two-person loveseat all together with plates of pie in their laps. Melissa put on Elf, because, according to her, “it is time for Christmas movies after Thanksgiving dinner.”

Scott fell asleep with his head resting on Isaac’s shoulder, and eventually Isaac rested his head on top of Scott’s and fell asleep. Melissa and the Sheriff both left for work before the movie was even over.

Instead of taking over the chair vacated by the Sheriff or the choice spot of carpet that Melissa had been occupying, Derek pushed his shoulder into Stiles’ and whispered, “thanks.”

Stiles nodded, putting a forkful of pie into his mouth. It was homemade, by Stiles. Derek assumed his pie had gotten thrown away. “Isaac said it’s your favorite holiday.”

“It is.”

“Still?” Stiles looked up at Derek with his big eyes and pretty lips and Derek decided, fuck it, it was, according to Melissa McCall, time for Christmas, so he should get a present, see if Stiles will give him this.

He leaned in and, after nodded quickly once, kissed Stiles, ever so gently, on the corner of his mouth.

“I think it always will be,” he said, his lips still close to Stiles’.

Stiles snorted. He pushed his lips against Derek’s. It wasn’t a great kiss. Derek was still smiling and Stiles was holding in laughter. But it was exactly what Derek wanted it to be. It was Stiles.

***

And when Stiles walked him to his car and proceeded to kiss him heavy and open-mouthed against it, well, he wasn’t going to complain.

Thanksgiving was definitely his favorite holiday.


End file.
